


Consistent

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [78]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, but not really, could be read as platonic or pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Aziraphale's been away from London for a few years, but now he's back.





	Consistent

**Author's Note:**

> For the sentence prompts: “Am I too late?” and “You wouldn’t understand”

“Hey.” Crowley knocked lightly on the doorframe and then leaned against it. “Am I too late?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “You’re right on time. For once.” The angel was shelving a final pile of books. Now-empty crates littered the floor, and Crowley wound around them, hands stuffed in his pockets, to stand by the angel.

“I resent that,” he teased. “I’m never _that_ late.” He glanced around. “Love what you’ve done with the place, by the way. Looks very…homey. Inviting.”

“Not _too_ inviting, I should hope,” Aziraphale said. He straightened up, dusting off his trousers. “I really can’t stand browsers, you know.”

“I know,” Crowley laughed. “So. Second grand opening, then? I know you hated leaving this place for America.”

Aziraphale made a face, as if remembering just how dreadful America had been – not his style at all - but he shook his head. “Not much of a grand re-opening, really. I didn’t invite anyone else.”

“Oh.” Crowley cocked his head and frowned. He leaned back against a table, careful not to knock of the stack of volumes balanced precariously on the edge. “Why’d you invite me, then?”

“Well, I thought maybe _we_ could celebrate. You know. Re-opening. Being back in London.” Aziraphale looked at him, eyes open and earnest. He wrung his hands. “Unless, of course, you’ve got better things to do?”

“Nah.” Crowley grinned. “Completely free, my evening. And,” he held up a bottle of wine that most certainly hadn’t been there before and wiggled it so it sloshed enticingly, “I brought drinks.”

They were halfway through the bottle – although far from being drunk yet – when it occurred to Crowley to ask, “Why just me? You’ve got…friends…in London, don’t you?”

“More acquaintances, really,” Aziraphale said. He’d settled in his favourite armchair, while Crowley sat on the back of the sofa, both pieces of furniture the same as they’d always been. “Anyway they…well, it doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Crowley set his glass down and leaned forward, hands wrapped around the seatback to keep his balance. “Try me.”

Aziraphale glanced at him, then stared at the floor and mumbled something indistinct. Crowley leaned farther forward. “What?”

“I said,” Aziraphale snapped, looking up at him, eyes suddenly flaming, “They might well be dead. Or…or have moved on, or forgotten.” He shook his head and slumped. “That’s what humans do, Crowley. They’re…temporary. There’s really only one consistent in my life.”

Crowley nodded sagely and sat back again. “Heaven.” He managed not to curl his lip at the word. Heaven was important to Aziraphale, even if they were a bunch of wankers.

“What?” Aziraphale looked surprised. He shook himself. “Well, yes, of course Heaven, but I meant there’s only one consistent _person_ in my life. Somebody who’s been there for me, no matter what.” He looked up at Crowley shyly. “Even when I’ve been most ungrateful to him.”

Crowley blinked. “You mean me.”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. Something warm bloomed in his stomach, and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re…you know. For me too, I mean.”

A smile played at the corner of Aziraphale’s lips, and then gradually stretched across them. He picked up his wine glass and offered it out in a toast. “To consistents, then?”

Crowley clinked his against it. “To new beginnings,” he returned, “where some things always stay the same.”


End file.
